


Hello

by badluckvixen13 (alteringviews)



Series: 1 Million for Black Hermione [11]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Based on an Adele Song, Black Hermione Granger, Emotional Manipulation, F/M, Letters, Major Character Injury
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-05
Updated: 2017-02-13
Packaged: 2018-09-18 02:33:49
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 14,189
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9362156
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alteringviews/pseuds/badluckvixen13
Summary: When war is over, a warrior has three things left to do:1) Collect and bury the dead,2) Tie up loose ends, and3) Find a safe place.At least that's what Viktor's Baba told him.So what is Hermione doing in Vratsa? And why isn't she wearing shoes?





	1. Hello, Can You Hear Me?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She survived and now she had to make things right.
> 
> Even if that meant doing something completely out of character.

_ The prickling sensation on the back of her neck is telling her that death was breathing over her shoulder. His skeletal arms moving to embrace her and carry her away, maybe drawn to the curve of her hip, the straightness of her spine, the fearlessness of her heart-- maybe he'd gotten tired of her being so very clever and evading him, dragging Harry and Ron out of his embrace as well. _

_ Hadn’t he collected enough of the Granger family? _

_ He wouldn’t be collecting her today if she had anything say about it and, believe her, she had a lot to fucking say. _

_ “Harry--” _

_ “Avada Kedavra!” _

_ She shoved Harry out of the way of the blast, carrying him down with her and rolling, bumbling down the steps of Hogwarts. The curse broke through solid stone, making it explode and the stairs shake as they rolled. She could hear death's hiss of annoyance.  _

_ “You filthy little mudblood! Crucio!” _

_ Screaming, pain, so much pain, can't take it, can't take--  _ _ Focus, Hermione,  _ **_FOCUS_ ** _! _

_ Harry, she thought, seeing him get to his feet and throw the Death Eater away, stunned beyond life or perhaps just injured, she wasn’t sure, but he was gone. Voldemort was dead, these remnants of the dark just had a death wish, maybe like them. Maybe they had truly loved the man that hated most of the wizarding world and despised himself.  _

_ Either way, she was sure that her will to survive was stronger than them, stronger than theirs. She was stronger than them, much stronger.  _ _ If they had a death wish, she’d give it to them if she had to and do it gladly. When the dust settled and all the bodies lay still and cold, she'd take a breath and then... _

_ Viktor...she thought with a sigh. She could go and find-- _

_ A dark figure working bright crimson magic at the tip of his wand. It isn’t the killing curse. She has a few ideas of what it could be, a million dark hexes running through her mind. Harry wasn’t warded-- she was. Harry hadn’t drunk the collection of potions said to give the drinker resistance to dark magic-- s _

_ Harry wasn’t warded-- she was.  _

_ Harry hadn’t drunk the collection of potions said to give the drinker resistance to dark magic-- s _ _ he had.  _

_ She had because she was the mudblood and even if the Weasleys were blood traitors and Harry was public/Voldemort enemy number one-- they would kill her first. They would torture and cut her to pieces before killing her. In their cruelty, she had a chance to survive, a chance to get rid of them all. They thought to break people with pain, it was the way they were broken, their chosen poison on their victims. _

_ They had no idea what breaking someone really meant--s _ _ She did. _

_ “Harry!”  _

_ She shoved him hard screaming as the hex broke over her and flung her back through the air, into a wall, into a column maybe--she didn’t know. She couldn’t feel it beyond the burning pain across her face, in her eyes, her leg, her whole body seized with it. She couldn’t hear anything but noise for a while and then Harry screaming in the distance and a hateful voice.  _

_ “I’m going to kill your mudblood friend, strangle her to death, then I’m going to kill you.” _

_ Hands around her throat and other sounds, pressing and pressing, a hot wet thing on her cheek, a weight on her chest, between her legs pinning her down even as she tried to push it away and reach for her wand. It wasn’t far. Couldn’t be far--her ever faithful, dragon core wand was never far. She'd enchanted it to always come when she called for it and it would last until her heart stopped beating. _

_ “Such a sweet thing, perhaps I won’t kill you yet. I always liked them a little burnt on the outside-- bet you’re sweet on the inside.” _

_ There was noise and she felt herself being dragged away, the sound of magic whistling through the air as he threw her down and her head went fuzzy with a fresh surge of pain. She felt the weight of him on her again, a grimy hand around her throat, the other pulling at her clothes as her wand slipped into her hand and she felt wet droplets landing on her face. _

_ “Did you know they came for Potter but left you? You know that? They left you all for me, mudblood--” _

_ “Flipendo!” She cried jamming her wand between them, forcing it out with the last of her struggling breath.  _

_ The weight of him went away, and the sickening crack told her that the blast had done more than just flung him back. One more tick on her killing list. It was all silent darkness around her. Her sense aggravated; her body in pain. Logically, she had no defense to speak of-- blinded, broken, exhausted. The anxiety was coming. She was blinded.  _

_ Nothing but darkness, nothing but sounds that she couldn’t attach to any visible movement. She’d never see Harry’s face again.  _

_ Never see Viktor’s face ever again and there were so many things she had to say. So many things she had to beg forgiveness for… So many things those eyes would tell her. _

_ Focus, Hermione. This wasn't the time for that.  _ _ She erected a shield and rolled over, gripping her wand tightly and feeling around for anything other than rubble and the floor. Viktor, she had to hear his voice again at least, know that he was okay. To apologize, to explain, to beg for some sort of absolution.  _ _ She wasn’t done fighting yet and she wouldn't be until she could do what needed to be done, say what needed to be said between them.  _

_ It was all that had been holding her together for this long. _

_ It was all she had left to fight to live for among so many things to fight to die for. _

_ She found the edge of stairs and dragged herself towards them, keeping her ear out for anything that could come over the screaming her nerves were doing in her skull. Slowly, slowly, she moved through the wreckage, it was so quiet, but she didn’t let that fool her. She was blind, injured badly, her head throbbing, her eyes cursed perhaps beyond repair, and for all she knew there was a death eater lurking in the shadows.  _

_ It wouldn’t stop her. It wouldn’t stop her. Nothing would stop her.  _

_ She was going to speak to Viktor again in **person**. No more letters, no more running. She was going to talk to him and maybe he would never forgive her, maybe he wouldn’t even want to hear what she had to say, but she had to try.  _ _ Maybe he hated her in all of her dark-skin, bushy hair, and stupidity. _

_ Maybe he’d moved on… _

_ Maybe he was dead.  _

_ She wouldn’t know for sure, she wouldn’t even entertain it until she had proof and for that…  _

_ For that, she had to move. One inch, one broken gasp, one splash of blood at a time... _

_ “Let me go! Hermione! Hermione!” She heard Harry’s voice.  _

_ “Harry?!” she called out, crawling a little faster. “Harry?!” _

_ She heard footsteps to her left, rushing towards her and raised her wand projecting her shield in front of her.  _

_ “‘Mione, it’s me,” he said coming towards her and she shuddered, panting.  _

_ “Name the Marauders,” she said, automatic as anything.  _

_ “Padfoot, Wormtail, Moony, and Prongs,” he said easily and she lowered her wand, with that her defenses and everything turned to... _

Nothing and empty, floating nothingness that came with no light and no direction beyond the snippets of feeling, the tendrils of conversation floating around her, through her. Right now, it’s Ginny’s voice again. Ginny’s voice sounding rather academic, forced almost.  She sure that she shouldn’t sound like that. She didn’t always, did she? What was happening? Where was she and why couldn't she move?

_ “Viktor’s playing for Bulgaria in the World Cup again this year.  They put a serious beat down on the Irish last game. You think maybe they were still angry about the last time? Wouldn’t it be great to go see him again? Like a walk down memory lane… without the Death Eaters, of course. Harry’s been training really hard with the Aurors for security. We’ll get some of that popcorn you like...” _

Viktor was alive.

She breathed in, the world becoming louder, clearer. It was so very quiet around her, nothing, but the sound of her own breathing as she regained feeling...It was still so dark. She reached up slowly to run her hand over her eyes and hissed at the throbbing pain along the left side of her face, shooting through her eyes and scrambling her senses for a moment before she withdrew her hands. She felt weak, tense… probably from malnutrition, stress, and injury.

_Blind_ , she remembered that. For how long? Judging by the fact that it still hurt, there was no telling. 

_Viktor_ , she reminded herself. Viktor was alive and playing in the World Cup soon. He’d be in Vratsa for sure on the National Bulgarian training grounds. She didn’t know where the Quidditch stadium in Vratsa was, but she knew the Museum wasn’t far from it. She could get there, send her patronus to find him. She had to know now, there was no putting it off any longer and there was no way she could find him blinded the way she was.

Her magic could though if she could just get close enough to where he was. Even being in the same country would be enough. With her mind made up to go, s She struggled to sit up, pushing herself up from the mattress and turning to get up, sliding her legs to the edge of the bed. She’s glad to find her wand comfortably in her hand. Harry had probably put it there if she’d let it go at all. 

A few wand movements and concentration later, the bedclothes were transfigured into a robe as far as she could feel and she slid it over whatever someone had changed her into. The robe went to her knees all the way around from the length of it, meaning she was, at the very least, fully clothed and decent. She moved to stand and grit back the sound of strain and weakness to settle back on the bed. She felt her legs, thinner than she remembered by a little bit, but not so atrophied that it would be too much of a problem. Whatever they’d had to do to heal her had apparently taken a lot out of her. 

If she was right about what she remembered about the World Cup, the Bulgarian game against Ireland leading up to the World Cup would have been played at the end of May, making it now early to mid-June. She’d been out for at least two or three weeks. It made sense, she'd read somewhere once that magical healing usually forced the body to reallocate energy that manifested in the form of muscle loss. If there was anywhere she would expect her body to note as a place with extra energy it would have been her thighs... or her arse she supposed.

She leaned forward just enough to grab the chair and slide it a little closer before transfiguring it into a crutch, one that had one prominent handle and cupped around her arm. She lifted it, light and easy to find the other chair before transfiguring it as well and getting herself on to her feet. It would be slow, but she could do it. She moved slowly feeling her way to the door with her wand in her mouth her teeth until she reached the door. She cast a silencing spell on her crutches, her feet and a disillusionment with a twirl of her wand before opening the door and slipping out. 

Running a hand over the plaque beside it she found out she was on the Fourth Floor, that told her at least that the majority of her injuries had to do with whatever that last hex had been and they still hadn’t figured it out. From what she read, the public floo was on the ground floor near the front desk. That was also where the exit was and if she could just get there, she’d be halfway to where Viktor was. St. Mungo’s was probably one of the only magical buildings whose Floo network and Apparation points had remained open during the more dicey parts of the war.

It’s slow and wary to get there, scooting down the stairs rather than crutching, crawling when she needed to until she could reach up and feel the engraved “G” for Ground Floor on a plaque. She kept to the wall, panting with exertion, tired and already exhausted, but she had to go and go now there was no telling where he would be playing the actual game, but if the World Cup hadn't happened yet, he was still in Vratsa. If she was right, and it had to be June still, he would be in Vratsa. 

She reached the fireplace which was also the sanctioned fireplace and grasped for the bowl of Floo Powder. Once she’d gotten herself in, she called out the juncture in Sofia and dropped the powder.  She didn’t wait to let her head stop reeling from the transportation to step out and crutch her way out of the fireplace. She followed the map in her memories along with the edge of the floor towards the door to the Apparation space.

She stepped in and focused on the outside of the museum before willing herself there. She wasn’t even sure if she’d fallen to the floor because of the tight rubber tube feeling or if it was because of the exhaustion, but it was pleasantly warm and she crawled towards the steps. They felt like she remember, the same number of them to the top beside the columns. She thanked the gods and her luck that she’d landed in the proper place before setting a muggle avoidance barrier, ward and shield around her, leaning on the pillar with a sigh. 

She’d made it to Vratsa, Bulgaria, now all she had to do was wait.

*

Harry and Ginny went together the next morning, up the familiar stairs. It had become a thing throughout the Weasley family, with Harry and everyone else who’d survived the war to take turns going to see Hermione in the hospital, but he wasn’t sure what to say when he arrived there and the Head Healer pulled them aside to tell them that she was gone.

“What do you mean she’s gone?!” Ginny shrieked. “People in comas don’t get up and go missing!”

“That’s… the thing Ms. Weasley… There was no sign of forced entry. No sign of any foul play. The chairs in her room and the bedclothes are all that’s gone. No note, nothing.”

“How could she have just disappeared?” Harry asked him. “There was supposed to be security watching over her.”

“It had to have been between shifts,” he said frantically. “No one saw anything, we’ve asked the entire hospital, checked the Floo Networks as much as possible, but people are always coming in and out of the public floo it would be impossible to track her down, especially since the network isn’t completely all together, there’s no telling--”

“This is supposed to be your job,” Ginny hissed. “Get some answers!”

He scurried away as she looked at Harry who looked pale and sick and about to need to be checked in himself. Ron came up behind them. 

“What’s going on?”


	2. Tear You Apart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He wasn't expecting this and he isn't sure why he's there....
> 
> Why he goes....
> 
> Nor why she isn't wearing shoes.

It isn’t the sound of people that wakes her up, but the warmth of the sun on her feet and on her head, seeping into her body from the impenetrable darkness. From the number of people she could hear bustling about, some of them walking right past her unhurried and unbothered, she knew it was nearing noon. 

_ Expecto Patronum, _ she thought, whipping her wand around and sending it off to find him while she sat against the pillar and tried to breathe around the anxiety.

Would he even want to see her? He’d stopped accepting her letters after she’d told him she was going to look for the Horcruxes with Harry and Ron. That she didn’t know where she would be, if she’d survive… She’d hurt him, she knew that but…

She shook her head, resting her full weight against the pillar. She had to have faith that at the least it wasn’t too late to apologize for it all. Viktor had always been noble, honorable, and hopefully noble enough to hear her out.

_ Please Viktor, _ she pleaded to the world.  _ Please forgive me. _

*

He walked down the street a little nervous. It was Vratsa, the muggle side, so no one could really recognize him from Vlad down the street, but there was still something so utterly open about meeting at the museum. It had been the first place he’d taken her to when she’d  come to visit Bulgaria. He’d jokingly said it was because if he’d taken her to the library they would never go anywhere else.  The memory still caused a bit of a twinge in his chest, the taste of bitterness, but never regret. He’d thought they were good together, thought that when the ash had settled after the way they could try for something more than what they had. Then, the years passed by and he’d given up all hope until that glowing blue otter had swam to him at the back of the Vratsa Quidditch stadium locker room and delivered the message.

_ Hello Viktor, if it’s… not too late to explain, will you meet me where we had our first date? I’m here in Vratsa, I’ll wait for you for as long as it takes. Please? _

He remembered staring dumbfounded as it waited patiently and he found himself saying he would come without really understanding why. It had been years since that year at Hogwarts, years of the war and the Wizarding world trying to put itself together. He’d been part of the Eastern European defense, an unofficial member of the Order of the Phoenix, but, even with all those connections, he had not managed to see her. The last time he had she’d been a beautiful young woman who, by all accounts, was under appreciated. A beautiful fifteen-year-old woman, then, and she would no doubt be a beautiful twenty-two-year-old woman now to his twenty-five-year-old man. Honestly, after the war had been pronounced over, death eaters rounded up and either killed or pumped ruthlessly for information, after a full four years of not hearing a word of her in the newspapers, in letters after being in such constant contact, he wasn’t sure what he was doing answering her summons in the middle of a warm June day in Bulgaria.

It was foolish, his mother would have told him while thrusting plenty of good-looking, well-meaning pureblood girls at him. Girls that wouldn’t argue with him, that wouldn’t put up a fight, that didn’t want him to coach them through the pronunciations of Bulgarian. Girls that didn’t ignite any spark, emotional or sexual, in Viktor because they were just girls, not women.

Even at fifteen, Hermione had been a woman that made his blood burn and his heart light.

It was a pipedream, his father would have said, shoving a glass of alcohol in his hand and trying to convince him to marry someone, to focus on his Quidditch career, to just forget her and be the pure blood they raised him to be. A pureblood who had no ambition beyond being pureblood, comfortable in his blood status and privilege.  He would be appalled to know how much Viktor actually enjoyed his muggle car, the way muggle science fascinated him...Appalled to know that the dark-skinned witch he'd take to the Yule Ball had all but ruined him for any other woman even though they had only kissed.

They would have said all of this if Viktor had told them, but it had been a very long time since he'd told his parents anything personal. 

In any case, it wasn't as if he hadn't tried after he'd found himself fuming with his letters unanswered, not even returned unopened either. Found himself paying back fouls four times over, found himself striking harder, fucking some faceless woman with curly hair in dark hotel rooms, a glamor over him, so they wouldn't go blabbing. They were never lively enough, never the right shade of pure earth. They never seemed to have enough curls to feed his addiction, never enough to take off the edge, but at least he could say that he tried. He'd felt wretched after each encounter. He should've moved on years ago, should have cut ties mentally, emotionally, on the docks, or at the first unanswered letter...at least at the third, but he couldn’t. He couldn’t do that to himself, or to her. He needed answers and only she could give them.

He needed real closure.

While she’d never said it, he knew that she’d clung to the idea of him, his voice in letters, his pen strokes, the scent his skin left on the parchment in the days leading up to her running, being cold and hungry in the forests of England, running for her life on the faith that a dead man had a plan. He could tell from the way she’d written the last one, that letter that was still kept with all the others in a box in his closet, along with every scorched raw and bleeding wound that had been every letter that had not been replied to during and after the war. 

_Why was he going?_ He thought, stopping for a moment. He owed her nothing in the scheme of things. He'd waited for an answer for years and not one had come. He still didn't have an answer. He moved to turn around.

_ But why had she never written back? Why the years of silence? _

Hermione wasn't an indirect person int he least. Insecure at times, of course, but never indirect.

_ Why?i _

It was the question behind the many that just never made any sense and was the largest reason that he just couldn’t move on, that he could head back without asking once and for all. From everything he knew of Hermione, it didn’t add up--no matter how blatant it was that she’d lost interest in writing to him. Perhaps the Weasley, or Potter, had finally owned up to their feelings and she’d gone with them. English, war heroes who’d known her most of her life, who could say her name properly, speak with her in one of her first languages and be understood. 

There were a lot of wounds he’d tried to forget about since his letters had stopped being answered. The wounds were only reopened at the sight of her patronus in the locker room, yet he was here walking down the street in muggle clothing, dark jeans and a tank top, to see her. As much as he wanted to run away, to not face this, he had to for his sanity.

He’d been thinking too, of how easy it had been to be with her, how much he’d burned with jealousy over Ron and Harry’s relationship with her. How much he’d hated being so far away and unable to truly fight for her. He'd promised himself that he would have his answers and then he would stop agonizing over it all. He’d let go once he had his answers--

“ _ Long time no see. _ ”

He closed his eyes against the sound of his native language and that voice a heady, beguiling paradox because he knew she hadn’t learned it, knew she didn’t know. It had to be a mistake.  A beautiful illusion.  He turned anyway to find that she was not standing behind him. He looked around for the source of the voice and finally his eyes settled on the woman settled beside a pillar at the top of the steps. Crutches resting on either side of her strong brown legs clad in nothing but a long robe to her knees, bandages wrapped around her left calf and her right ankle. Her feet were bare. Her robe was split over her legs and oddly colored, white and long. Her hair was longer, significantly longer, but no less wild, falling around her head, down her shoulders and back and over her downcast face. It was much longer than the last time he'd seen her, but still so very beautiful.

She was still so very beautiful. She’d grown up, fleshed out, became a proper woman physically to match the woman inside.

He took her in slowly. Her skin tone was as rich as it had ever been, like fertile soil in the height of summer, glowing with life and warmth. The sleeves of her gown were three-quarters, her arms wrapped in bandages. From the short distance, he couldn't see her face.

Why was she barefoot?

“Hermione,” he breathed moving to walk up the steps to her and reaching for her hands.

She flinched, startled maybe and that worried him. Her eyes shadowed by the curtain of her wild hair.  He finds a spring of foolish hope rushing through him feeling her hands smooth and unmarked by vows old, renewed, or new. There were light scars, the white of bandages there on her palms and such, but that was all. He should have been ashamed by how happy this little detail made him, but he'd long since given up on being ashamed when it came to this woman. She let out a shuddering breath and swallowed, her hands tightening a little.

“You said my name.”

“I have… practiced,” he said looking down at her and feeling something was off, but unable to really name it. 

Why was she barefoot? And why wouldn’t she look at him?

“You’ve lost your shuffle, I could hardly recognize you walking by,” she said. “I guess you could hardly recognize me too.”

“Is… strange to see you here, strange to get message. Would not have you wait here for days.”

Hermione licked her lips, them quirking on the edge. Of course, Viktor would have heard that part and came. She hadn’t said it to guilt him, or pull on his nobility, just to be honest. Things were just so fuzzy in the moment, but she needed him to know that the ball was in his court and she would wait for as long as he needed.

“Viktor,” she said softly. “So much has changed… I just wanted to hear your voice and say that I’m sorry.”

Viktor frowned, “For what?”

“For hurting you.”

He flinched, but tightened his grip on her hands, “You are… married, yes? To Weasley.”

She scoffed, “No.”

“Potter?”

She shuddered, “Not on my life. Engaged to a brother?”

Viktor let out a breath, “Someone else?”

“No,” she said. “I’m not married, a bit young for that, aren't I?”

He didn't consider twenty-two too young, but...why wasn't she wearing shoes? Why was she covered in bandages and not looking at him? Hermione always looked at him, gave him her undivided attention when they talked. She never talked at him, always aware of his engagement as he was of hers.  It was what made speaking with her so addicting in the first place.

“You have… come to tell me that you are deathly ill?”

“No,” she said shaking her head.

“Perhaps... You are in danger?”

“No.”

“Then… mila, what?” he asked frowning, effectively out of things that could break his already broken heart at this juncture. 

“Viktor,” she said. “I think we can both be honest and say that I was never fair to you, so wrapped up in Ron, in Harry, in trying to be… more than what the wizarding world thought of me. Chasing after something that was as good to me as a bludger to the head. You were a knight in shining armor, a fairytale when I so desperately needed reminding that there was more to me than that, more to life… Then you were my closest confidant...A man that I hadn’t realized loved me as much as he did, way more than I deserved.”

There were so many things, so many protests that he wanted to give to her statements, but none of them came as his eyes looked at the white band on her wrist. He hadn’t noticed it among the stark white bandages on her forearms. 

_ Hermione Granger _

_ 9-19-79 _

_ Healer Mosby _

_ Floor 4 _

If he wasn’t mistaken, the bracelet was from St. Mungo’s meaning she was a patient there, on Floor 4. He licked his lips. He was pretty sure that was the level for hexes and curses. She'd been in the hospital? The war, he guessed, was still not over everywhere. That could explain why she did not write back maybe… but how long had she been in the hospital and why would no one tell him that? Surely, someone who was close to her knew that they still wrote to one another?

His stomach twisted, something wasn’t right. 

“When it was all over, I… I had some time to think. Truly think about you, about me, about what I wanted… about everything--it’s startling how much reflection can be done when your life is constantly thrown into peril and literally hanging by a thread.”

His hands stiffened, still trying to figure out why she wouldn’t look at him, why something inside him was screaming that something wasn’t right. The way she was talking, slightly slurred on the edges. Her lack of shoes, the crutches, and the bracelet.

“Mila? Why won’t you look at me?” He asked again, squeezing her hands gently. “Is unlike you to not look at me.”

“Shame,” she said. “Shame… Viktor.”

“What do you have shame for, skupa? Shame with me?”

She sniffled, “It’s complicated and not what I came to talk about...I--”

“You have apologized for things that are not necessary. You were fifteen, mila. Fifteen in position that asked much of you. Too much of you and you still dealt with all with grace...even clumsy, shuffling boy who have giggling girls following him.”

She didn’t laugh as he expected her to but he pressed on. 

“Though I do not understand why you are here saying these things when you would not return my letters.”

Hermione stiffened her her head tilted up, just a bit, but not enough to see her face through the curtain of her hair, “What?”

“You do not write to me for years, but you show up now. I am not sure--”

“I wrote to you every chance I had without a word from you,” she said shaking her head. “I thought… I thought when I told you that I--”

“I did not receive them,” he said, softly. 

“I sent them,” she said. “I thought that when I told you that I was leaving school to fight with Ron and Harry that I’d… I’d hurt you and I’m sorry that I--”

He scoffed, a sound that made her flinch back and he let her, his indignation coming strong and agitated by the apparently callous way she'd come to him acting as if it had only been a few months without speaking rather than years.

“Da, you go run off with Potter and Weasley. Say you don’t know when you’ll be back. When it is safe. I write in hope that you get them, have strength when you are running, to have chance when war is over. Hear nothing of you for years and you come--”

“Years?” she asked incredulously. “The war just ended!”

“Voldemort died four years ago--”

It’s the gasp and the shaking of her hands that stops him from launching the bandolier of munitions he’d been carrying around with him for years. She ducks her head, pulling further away from him, a hand over her mouth.

“F-Four… y-years?”

“Da,” he said. “Four years of  _ nothing _ and then you show up in Vratsa--barefoot? Why are you barefoot and why won’t you--”

She panted, gasping for breath, hands shaking, her head shaking, “N-No… th-that’s not right. That can’t be right. I-I…”

_ Four years?  _ She thought. 

It had only… 

She had only just...

“That… can’t be right.”

He scoffed again, “I have no reason to lie to you. Is June 15th of 2002. Voldemort have been dead four years. I have waited four years to hear from you and...you… you are…”

She didn’t hear him. 2002? It had been 1998, May of 1998 when she’d last… She knew it was June, had to be June but… but--

June 2002? Four years. Four bloody years, no wonder, no wonder--

“I-I… I’m sorry Viktor,” she said grasping for her crutches and moving to stand though her body protested and she couldn’t see and she couldn't stop. She couldn't be around him like this. Gods, four years? The nerve he must think she had, coming here like **_this_**. It was her fault, she hadn’t even thought to ask, hadn’t thought she’d been out that long at all just tired--

“I didn’t mean--”

“Mila.”

“I didn’t--I’m sorry Viktor, if I’d known I--”

“Mila!” He thundered as she moved a bit too fast for her body. The crutch slipped off the edge of the step and he found himself catching her, trembling body against him, shaking and stuttering apologies while trying to steady herself blindly, head tilted down. He waited for a moment, holding her solidly against him until she seemed to calm a bit, maybe just from touch, maybe just from being close to him. He'd like to think, a traitorous part of him at least, that it was the latter rather than the former. 

“Hermione,” he started a bit softer. “Look at me.”

“I… I can't.”

“Why?”

She let out a shuddering breath and her head tilted up slowly reveal a thick, collection of fresh white bandage over her eyes. Her hair framing her face, but not enough to cover the stitches on her cheek and forehead, pulsing with magic.

“ _ Hermione, _ ” he whispered and she drew back. He took hold of her elbows and hushed her. “Shh, do not run Mila.”

“I--I just wanted to hear your voice. T-To say that I--that I was-- I didn’t mean for you to-- I didn’t mean to--Oh gods, Viktor I--”

“What is last thing you remember?” Viktor asked, wrapping an arm around her waist to steady her and cupping her cheek to push back the strands of hair. 

As he did so the extent of the curse revealed itself, cracking bright red pain across her cheeks and back towards her hairline. What the bloody hell had happened to her? Why had Potter and Weasley let her get hurt this way? 

Why had the let her come here alone?

Her jaw trembled, “H-Harry… we were in Hogwarts… the war… he’d killed Voldemort… There was a death eater that hexed me… blinded me and then Harry was there...And then I woke up…”

Apparently, four years later. Viktor cursed his Bulgarian temper, years of ache that she wasn’t privy to and sighed. It wasn’t enough to truly dissolve it all, there was still confusion there as to why no one had said anything to him...even the year of the war if she’d written to him every chance she’d gotten--

There were pieces missing in this setup, but the biggest was the four years she'd spent in a coma of some sort, magical or otherwise.

“I… am sorry, mila,” Viktor said. “I did not know. Last letter came, there was no news of you in England, no one told me… I’m sorry, I lost temper… you have lost years.”

He sighed, looking down at her, “How did you get here, Hermione?”

“Floo and apparation,” she said softly and he groaned, pulling her close and burying a hand in her hair, holding her upright and letting her breath him in.

She relaxed slowly at the familiar feeling. By her judgment, he'd grown taller, maybe, but he smelled the exact same. Like the coast, sea salted wind, fresh cut grass, and those chocolate peppermints he enjoyed so much.

“Dangerous, mila,” he chided. “Do not do again, yes? Is not safe.”

“I… I wanted to hear your voice...to say I'm --”

He hushed her, stroking her hair and pressing her closer to him, remembering how easy it was to calm her down when she was still, quiet, and suffused in his scent. How much she liked to be close to him and take in the sea salt and warmth of him into her senses. How much he loved the way her hair smelled.

Her fingers tightened in his tank top, she sniffled, hot tears springing from her eyes as she continued to apologize in broken sobbing English, some French enough to tell him that she was past distraught. She only spoke French when she couldn’t think. Four years, four years of god knew what in St. Mungo's, a coma he assumed, and she’d come to Bulgaria to apologize. The first thing… blinded, weak, afraid, on the tail end of a near-death experience for her, thinking that she’d only been out for a few weeks at the most… She was probably still in pain judging by the bandages over wounds that should have been healed already. Wounded for four years, but she’d come to see him... and he'd been angry at her.

He felt fucking terrible.

“Years of words unsaid,” Viktor said. “Between us, letters or not. You are still most amazing witch I will ever know.”

She swallowed, “I’m so… sorry, Viktor.”

“We have things to say, yes? Can wait until you are steady.” She sniffled clinging to him as he held her on the steps of the museum, rocking her gently, stroking her hair and pressing her close to him. 

“It wasn’t your fault,” she said. “And there was nothing anyone could ever tell me that could make me doubt you.”

Viktor swallowed, letting the words wash over him, an answer from the letter he'd sent just before her last confessing his fears of what he was capable of, if perhaps in learning Dark magic, he had been tainted and  maybe the Imperius Curse wasn't the only reason he'd attacked Cedric in the maze.

“I meant when I say I have never felt for woman the way I feel for you,” Viktor said, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “We will talk, but for now… I take you back to St Mungo’s, yes?”

He looked down at her, feeling the way she relaxed in his arms before scooping her up, crutches and all, and carrying her down the steps. He couldn’t apparate with her like this, so he walked to the nearest Floo point, a bar down the street and called out the name of the hospital.

Ginny, Harry, and Ron are in the lobby reviewing floo records and, as it stands, they can only tell a few things: how many people transported themselves and what their destinations were, but not the time or anything of real use. Harry made note to get on the Floo Department’s case about that--they were supposed to restore full functionality weeks ago.

"This is hopeless!” Ron said growling at the pages. “Absolutely nutters she is walking around straight out of a coma. Where could she be?”

“Don’t call her that,” Harry chided, setting the pages down and rubbing his eyes. “It’s not like she knows that she’s woken up from a coma.”

Ginny turned away from their arguing to see a familiar set of shoulders at the front desk, a pair of brown feet and legs covered in bandages hanging over his arm.

“Viktor?”

He turned his head to see Ginny earning the attention of Ron and Harry as well, then the body in his arms. All the color drained out of Ron’s face as Harry stood up, his eyes widening.

_How had she’d found him?_ Ron thought. He’d thought they were done with the way she’d clammed up over the year on the run about Viktor. He'd thought perhaps there would be a chance after he'd come back from running away from the mission, consumed with jealousy… Harry loved Ginny, he knew that and what Hermione and Harry had went no farther than sibling love, like orphans clinging to one another in a strange place. In the Chamber of Secrets, there had been a moment, a chance he'd missed to kiss her as they retreated from destroying the Hufflepuff cup, but she hadn't even stopped to entertain the brief reprieve, leaving to run the halls to find Harry and continue the fight.

_How had she gotten to Bulgaria?_ Harry thought, knowing that this close to the World Cup, to be held in Greece this year, there was nowhere else he would be. Was she crazy? She couldn’t bloody see, could barely walk from 4 years of being in a coma and for the love of Merlin why was she barefoot?!

“Hermione?” Ron asked standing, pale and reaching for her. “I’ll take her, mate. I’m sure you’re busy.”

“No,” Viktor said, looking at Ron’s pale face. He’d blanched at the sight of Viktor and Viktor was also not convinced that Ron could carry her. “She is comfortable.”

“Is she...alright?” Harry ventured, looking between them.

“Tired, I think. Weak...Shocked,” Viktor said and looked back at the unconscious woman in his arms.

“It’s good to see you, Viktor,” Harry said. “Thank you for bringing her back… I take it she showed up in Bulgaria?”

Viktor eyed him, but nodded, “Vratsa.”

“You could put her on a gurney…”

“No, will carry,” he said. “She is comfortable.”

Harry looked at Hermione in his arms and had to agree, he hadn’t seen her look so at peace in the four years she’d been in a coma. The Healer looked to Harry as her official guardian, but he nodded and she led him back to Hermione’s room. The Auror on the day shift seemed beside himself as they came and Harry pat him on the shoulder.

“It’s okay, Nelson. That shiny gold medal wasn’t for nothing you know?”

He nodded, guiltily as Viktor carried her in and sat down to get her out of the transfigured robe, wash her feet and slip her back into the bed. Harry regarded him, watching him with her. He reached for Hermione’s wand arm and grabbed her wand.

“Actually, you--”

It slipped free easily and he set it aside before tucking her in and pressing a kiss to her forehead. Ginny gasped and Harry wasn’t sure what to think of it. When she’d fallen unconscious on the landing in Hogwarts, she’d screamed when anyone tried to take her wand, unconscious, blinded, and producing an impenetrable shield around herself. It had been Harry to calm her down, the sound of his voice telling her that everything was alright. The Healers had tried as well but she’d all but incapacitated them, screaming blindly and shots firing from the end of her wand, a thick shield around her until Harry had taken charge once again and soothed her, reciting their agreed upon password to be sure that they were all whom they were supposed to be. She fell quiet, the shield dissolved and he told them to leave her wand alone.

To see her relinquish it so easily now was a tad disheartening and made him look at Ron in suspicion. He was still pale, blanched out and mumbled something about going to alert the Weasleys that she was up before leaving quickly.  Harry and Ginny stepped in to take a seat, Ginny squeezing his hand tightly.

“At least, perhaps, we can all go, right?” Ginny asked and Harry chuckled.

“Perhaps.”

Viktor stepped back and looked at the pair, “You will look after her?”

“We won’t leave,” Ginny said mistily. “Four years of waiting for her to wake up… We won’t leave.”

He nodded, “Have questions but will return soon. Tell her this if she wakes before I return, yes?”

Harry nodded and Viktor left. A Healer came in, one of the few who’d been among the first to try and treat her and he was just as shocked to see Hermione’s wand on her bedside table.

“How…”

“Bulgarian magic,” Ginny said with a rueful smile. “Will she be okay?”

“It is nearly unheard of a coma patient to get up, do enough magic to escape the hospital and end up in another country,” he said looking at her. “But I suppose in Ms. Granger’s case, we should not be surprised.”

Harry smiled reaching out to take her hand, “No… no we shouldn’t.”

*

“Three days?” Sergei asked looking at him skeptically, the rest of his team in the locker room looking at him. 

Viktor winced, he didn’t think Sergei would be so resistant to three days, he had never taken a leave of absence, though he was allotted a whole season by contract. 

“I…” Viktor started. “I have to, Sergei. Is hard to explain.”

“Your witch in England, the one you’ve been pining after for four years randomly calls you up, with a patronus no less, and you ask for three days?” Sergei asked against regarding him.

“She came to Bulgaria, Vratsa to find me. Left St. Mungo’s as soon as she woke up, she’s been in a coma for four years, Sergei. I have to--”

“Viktor,” he cut in. “My question isn’t about you taking time, it’s a matter of will you be able to get the answers you need after four years in three days?”

Viktor swallowed looking down as Sergei shook his head, “So very honorable Viktor, but there are more important things than a bloody contract and the World Cup.”

He looked at Sergei as he rifled through his pages and pulled out a bundle of scrolls to hand to him. 

“You will be back for the game. Meet us in Athens at the hotel. Follow the schedule as much as you’re able, get the answers you need, Viktor.”

He looked at him stunned looking at him then at his grinning teammates.

“I… I am not sure what to say.”

Belov scoffed from his place on the bench, “You are more bird than a man on a broom, Viktor, but you play best when you are happy… or angry. She makes you happy, we know this. Had the best seasons before the war, so long as you get answers, closure, we’ll be just fine.”

“You’ve carried it around long enough,” Sergei said. “Go. If you need hotel arrangements in London call and we’ll get you taken care of.”

“Call it a team morale leave,” Apostalov said. “Get going.”

He nodded slowly, turning to his locker to pack up his things quickly.

“We demand to meet this woman!”

“I promise!” He yelled back rushing towards the floo point and calling out St. Mungo’s.  She isn’t awake when he returned, but the Healer is there doing some rudimentary checks on her. Ginny and Harry are sitting in the room as well.

“Other than the strain of being up so soon after four years, she should be alright. Scarily potent magic to be able to apparate so soon after.”

“That’s ‘Mione for you,” Harry said, affectionately. “Always throwing people for a loop…”

Ginny squeezed his hand as his voice cracked.

“Four years,” he said softly, his breath shuddering and he looked up at Viktor. “Why did she… go to you? I thought you two weren’t talking…”

Viktor let out a breath, he wasn’t completely sure why either. There was obviously the fact that she’d needed answers just as much as he did, but he didn’t know.

“Oh,” Ginny started, “Remember when Healer Dalton told us to talk to her?”

Harry nodded. He’d said that even though Hermione wasn’t technically conscious she could still hear them, that talking to her, letting her hear their voices might help her wake up. 

“Well, you know how I like to keep her up to date on what’s going on,” Ginny said as Harry smiled. Ginny had started reading the newspaper to her, books sometimes. She pulled out the prior day’s paper.

“Viktor was in yesterday’s paper since they’d confirmed that there would be a World Cup game in July.”

Viktor swallowed looking at the paper then to the sleeping woman. She probably surmised that she'd been out for maybe a month since the World Cup was announced.

Clever woman… knew where to find him.

“But… why would that make a difference as to when she woke up?” Harry asked. “No offense, mate, but you never wrote back to her.”

“I never received her letters,” Viktor said looking at her. “Nor word that she was even in the hospital.”

Harry frowned, “You… you didn’t know?”

Ginny grit her teeth, “Ron and Mum have a lot of explaining to do.”

“My baba told me once that warriors only have three places to go after war,” Viktor said looking at Hermione. “To battlefield to collect the dead, to tie up loose ends, and to safe place where armor is not needed.”

Harry swallowed and looked at Hermione, she never spoke much about her relationship with Viktor, but whenever a letter arrived from Viktor she had a sort of light around her, a good mood that wouldn’t be cut down for anything. 

“Well… since her parents are dead, I suppose that makes you her safe place,” Harry said softly. 

“Loose end maybe,” Viktor said. Ginny shook her head. 

“No, safe place,” Ginny said softly. “Trust me on that.”

Viktor looked at her for a moment as she looked at Hermione. 

“Hermione sent us messages, updating us in code about how things were going.”

“I didn’t know that,” Harry said. “How’d she manage that?”

“She gave me a journal,” she said. “That she could write in and I could read, notes to us. No details really, nothing that could be used to find you. I couldn’t write back of course, she thought it was too dangerous, but it helped Mum to hear things.”

Harry nodded, thinking of the radio, the way Hermione seemed to be defensive of Ron’s listening to it every night. Leave it to Hermione to have a way to keep the Weasley matriarch calm.

“She talked about you,” Ginny said. “Not by name, called you DragonHeart… she was rather torn up about it. I don’t think she meant to write in that journal to me, but you were definitely one of the few things that kept her going beside Harry and Ron.”

Viktor swallowed looking to Hermione and trying to breathe. If she’d been writing, then the letters would have gone to the Krum Manor… to his parents. 

“I see,” Viktor said.

She stirred, her hand twitching as she moaned, “ _ Viktor? _ ”

He moved to cross the room and sit on her bed.

“ _ Harry? _ ” she said, turning her head until Viktor took her hand.

“Shh, mila,” he said softly. “We’re here.”

Harry moved forward to take her other hand and she squeezed them both. 

“I’m here, ‘Mione,” Harry said. “Can you hear me?”

“Yes,” she said turning her head in the direction of his voice. “Four… years?”

Harry squeezed her hand, “It doesn’t matter, you’re awake now.”

“Four years,” she repeated. “How…”

“You went into a coma after the battle was over, ‘Mione. You were badly hurt, but Madame Pomfrey did as much as she could before we got you to St.Mungo’s.”

She swallowed and nodded, squeezing Viktor’s hand tighter and somehow keeping her voice steady. He reached out, laying a hand on her forehead. Harry watched the tension ease a little as she asked about everyone else. Ginny piped up that she was here as well before Hermione let out a breath.

“I’m sure… there’s more.”

Harry hummed, “Yeah, but that can wait. Ron should be back with everyone soon enough.”

“Viktor?” Hermione asked. “You have practice don’t you? I’ve pulled you away.”

Viktor nodded helplessly, “Ot bog, mila, you have not changed. Coach give leave until game.”

“But--”

“More important things than World Cup,” Viktor said. “We have much to say, yes?”

“Da,” she said quietly and then seemed startled by the reaction. 

“Have rubbed off on you, yes?”

She squeezed his hand, “Yes.”

“I have to find hotel and talk to parents about something,” Viktor told her.

“Nonsense,” Harry said. “You can stay with us.”

Viktor looked at him as Harry gave him a smile. “It’s where Hermione will be staying and I don’t think you can have your talk too far apart.”

“Harry… what?”

“I’m your official guardian, ‘Mione,” he said with a grin. “I get to be the one to tell you when to sit down and stop stressing.”

She groaned, “Who decided that?”

“Kingsley did,” Ginny said. “After Harry all but bit everyone’s head off for trying to take you from him.”

Harry flushed, “I did not.”

“ _ I’ll hex you, I swear it! _ ”Ginny said flourishing an invisible wand. “ _ Touch her and I’ll bloody hex you! _ ”

Harry nudged her as Hermione let out a weak laugh, “Aw, little brother frightened?”

He squeezed her hand meaningfully, “Terrified… carried you to the Great Hall myself.”

“Nearly killed himself,” Ginny said. “Perhaps Viktor should help him work out a bit so it isn’t as much of a hassle.”

Harry huffed as Viktor grinned, “Do not be embarrassed, Potter. English men not built for carrying ladies.”

Hermione chuckled and stilled when Viktor pressed a kiss to her cheek, gently as to not cause pain, but firm with affection.

“Would be grateful, for hospitality,” Viktor said to Harry. “Thank you.”

Harry nodded at him and watched him stand. 

“Must deal with parents now,” Viktor said and kissed Hermione’s hand. “Will be back, rest and listen to Potter. No apparating cross-country.”

Hermione glowered at him and even with the bandages, he could feel her indignation.

“Ha ha,” she said, her jaw shaking as he released her fingers and pressed a kiss to the top of her head.

Viktor grabbed his bag from beside the door and headed out, closing it behind him as Hermione squeezed Harry’s hand.

“You are not allowed to abuse this new power dynamic,” Hermione said and Harry laughed. 

“My only advantage is that you don’t have your wand in your hand,” Harry said. “It’s not much of an advantage and no worries. I wouldn’t want the very large Bulgarian man to pummel me.”

“Speaking of, he’s so much bigger than he was back then,” Ginny said. “Giving all kinds of teenagers hopes of becoming a seeker even if they don’t fit into the stereotype.”

“Bigger?” Hermione asked.

“Broader, taller, far more muscle--he’s definitely a Bulgarian Bon Bon now.”

“Ginny! I’m right here.”

“And you’re like an English crumpet, a necessary staple in a girl’s life.”

He groaned as she kissed his cheek while Hermione laughed, it was good to hear them, hear their banter, hear Viktor’s voice even though she didn’t have the faintest idea of what he looked like at the moment. It was unnerving, being in the dark like this, all of her other senses working overtime to compensate. 

“I… must look a mess,” she said with a scoff. “What… was I thinking? Walking out of St. Mungo’s like this?”

“That you’d wasted enough time sleeping?” Ginny asked. “And there was a delicious man you needed answers from--by the way how did you manage that? Here to Bulgaria with no sight?”

Hermione shrugged, “Disillusion, silencing, crutches, floo, and apparation.”

“YOU APPARATED?!”

*

Viktor strode into the Krum manor and called out for Dimi. The little house elf appeared, in usually good spirits. She was always happy to see him, perhaps because he actually paid attention to her.

“Welcome home, Master Viktor!”

“Hello Dimi,” he said kindly. “How are you?”

“Am very well, sir,” she said. “Much better now that you’re here. Are you here for long?”

“No, Dimi, I’m not, perhaps this may be the last time I come.”

“Is something wrong?” Dimi asked, almost frantically.

Viktor kneeled, “I have something to speak with my parents about and depending on their answer… there could be. But before I find them, Dimi, do you know where all of my mail during the war was kept?”

Dimi winced. He swallowed, he’d thought as much and stood.

“It’s okay, Dimi.”

“I am sorry, Master Viktor!” She cried.

Viktor placed a hand on his shoulder and smiled, “It’s okay, it wasn’t your fault. Did you keep them at least?”

He nodded, “Mistress… say she would burn them. Dimi switched them with junk mail.”

“Junk mail?”

“Fanmail with scents,” Dimi said proudly. 

“Can you show me where they are?” Viktor asked hopefully.

Dimi nodded, taking his hand and apparating them up the stairs to Viktor’s childhood room. She walked to the cupboard and Viktor almost smiled at the old room. It was as bare as it always had been save the books his grandmother had given him. 

“Here they are!”

His eyes widened to see the huge box of letters, organized by date all of them addressed to him. 

“Hope you would come visit more, find them,” Dimi said. “Thought you would come home.”

Viktor smiled kneeling to hug her, “Thank you, Dimi.”

He pulled an old shirt from the cupboard and transfigured it into a scarlet red robe before handing it to her, she jumped back in fright.

“It’s alright Dimi,” he said. “I’m not giving this to you as a sign of dismissal, but protection. I don’t think it will be safe here for you any longer.”

She sniffled, “Dimi not want to be free.”

“Free from the Krum manor,” he said. “You can always come with me.”

“With Master Viktor?” She asked. “Not free?”

Viktor nodded, “If that’s what you want.”

She swallowed, “But… cannot leave Mitri.”

He smiled and pulled another shirt down to transfigure it, calling for Mitri who arrived with a pop. He gave him the tunic as well with the same expression. Dimi and Mitri had been the only two house elves not terribly frightened of him, the only two whom he’d managed to get to know and knew him well.  When his grandmother passed away the year prior, she’d left him her estate near the Krushuna Falls. He’d been planning to move there as soon as the season was over, it seemed that time would have to be sooner rather than later. 

“Do me a favor,” Viktor said. “Could you pack up all of my things and help me move to baba’s estate?”

“Da!” They said and set to work, he carried the box of letters with him out of the room and down the stairs. 

“Viktor! Viktor! Where are you?”

Ekaterina called and rounded the corner to see him standing there, the box under his arm and she paled. 

“I believe we have something to discuss.”

Her eyes narrowed and he walked past her into the room where his father, Iliya, sat. His eyes looked at the box then to his face, then to Ekaterina and he cursed. 

“That dimwitted elf--”

“You did this,” Viktor cut in. “You have no idea what you’ve done.”

“It was for your own good, Viktor! She is English what would she--”

“She has been in a coma for four years,” he said glaring at them. “The first thing she did when she woke up, blinded, weak, is to floo and apparate to Vratsa to find me. To apologize for  _ hurting _ me when this is all your doing.”

They went silent.

“She could have  _ died _ trying to get here, to get answers. She could have died during the war thinking that I do not love her because of your pride!”

Viktor let out a breath, “I am moving to baba’s estate.”

“What? But Viktor--”

“Dimi and Mitri will be coming with me and if you have any remorse, you will not contact me until I can stand the sight of you.”

“But Viktor, you--”

He looked at them both, leveling their protests with a hard, dark glare. He wondered if they were thinking of his grandfather, Viktorius Krum before leaving. Dimi and Mitri had already packed up the room and begun apparating things back to the estate. He told them to get situated and keep an eye on the place until he got back before flooing back to St.Mungos with the letters in his arms. 

*

Harry and Ginny don’t tell her anything monumental, little things that have happened, things that would lighten her spirit, keep it light until distractions came. When Molly and the rest of the Weasleys arrived it’s all excited voices and people touching her, squeezing her in the dark. She can’t help but flinch and startle at every new hand, small and large, familiar and foreign. She can’t tell them apart, though she knows their voices.  Then, there are lips on her cheek, too close to her lips and she shoved the chest away just as fast as she’s oriented.

“What are you doing?!” She asked keeping the shirt in her hands far enough away that it won’t happen again.

“It’s me, Ron.”

“That doesn’t answer the question Ronald,” Hermione asked. “What are you doing?”

“I think you’ve been asleep too long if you don’t know what a kiss is,” George said earning some laughter. 

“Why are you kissing me?” Hermione asked.

“What does that even mean?” Ron asked. “We’ve been dancing around one another for ages, ‘Mione. You’ve been in a coma--”

“Yes, for four years,” she said. “I can’t even see you. Four years of my life spent in a hospital bed, and a million and four questions to ask and you try to  _ kiss _ me?”

“I thought girls liked romance,” Ron said stiltedly. “I mean, we’ve been fighting this since third year… between Viktor--”

“Ron,” she cut him off. “Why didn’t Viktor know I was in the hospital? For four years?”

He stiffened and tried to pull back, but Hermione kept her grip on his shirt. 

“If Harry became my legal guardian for healing purposes, that means he put  _ you _ in charge of notifying everyone, and Ginny would've told you to contact him. So, Ronald, why didn't he know?”

“It… uh… slipped my mind.”

“Right. And my letters?”

Harry frowned and Ginny’s eyes widened.

“Well, ‘Mione--”

“Harry you checked my post box didn’t you?”

“Yeah, it was empty,” Harry said. “It was… always empty.”

She shoved the chest back and turned in the direction towards her feet knowing Mrs. Weasley was there.

“Mrs. Weasley,” she started. “You went with me to set up that post box. You were the only other person to have a key which I asked you to give to Ginny.”

“What?” Ginny asked looking at her mother.

“It was for the best,” Molly protested. “Trying to run off with some foreigner when she and Ron were--”

“Nothing!” Hermione said. “Ron and I were  _ nothing _ .”

Ron flushed, “What do you mean nothing? Because I’m not famous or--”

“Nothing because you don’t respect me!” Hermione said, gripping her sheets tightly as Harry tried to get her to calm down the red flashing in her open scars growing larger. She hissed at the growing pain, but she didn't back down.

“You  _ torment _ me all of first year until you realize that I’m smart enough to keep you from failing. If it weren’t for Harry, we wouldn’t have even gotten that far. You… call me all sorts of things, including mental, say mean terrible things and you expect me to forgive you, excuse you for your immaturity. You very nearly ruin what could have been the best night of my life and then follow your jealous year long fit up with shoving your tongue into my roommate’s mouth! You manipulate me for  _ years _ . And you abandon us when  we needed you most only to come crawling back with half a sob story and a sword! ”

“Hermione, you have to calm down this isn’t good for you--”

“And now, after losing  _ everything _ my past, my parents, my sight and damn near my life, four years of my life gone in a dream, I wake to find out that people I trusted have betrayed me in the worst way and in the middle of this emotional roller coaster you want to manipulate me into thinking that despite everything we’re just made for one another?”

“We are!” Ron said. “Just because I’m not rich or famous or as smart as you doesn’t mean that I don’t love you. That we shouldn’t be together.”

Hermione’s hands tightened in her bedclothes.

“What’s my favorite color, Ron?”

He blinked, “Red.”

“Wrong. What’s my favorite book?”

“Hogwarts A History.”

“What’s my greatest fear?”

“Flying.”

“Wrong!”

He shut his mouth, “Harry?”

“Yes, ‘Mione.”

“Can you give him the answers please?” Hermione said.

“Turquoise, Atlas Shrugged, and… being blinded.”

“Thank you,” she said stiffly. “Mrs. Weasley, what have you done with my letters?”

“I…”she started. “I… I burnt them.”

Hermione licked her lips slowly, swallowing thickly and taking a deep breath. 

“Get out,” she said.

“Come on dear, this isn’t the time to be burning bridges,” Molly tried. “You’ve already lost--””

“Get  _ out _ ,” she repeated through gritted teeth.

“Well I--”

“Get out, Mum,” Ginny said shaking her head. “Haven’t you done enough?”

“And what about Ronald? Hasn’t she done enough to him? Playing with his emotions, leaving him for some rich and famous foreigner! I was only trying to help her see. Types like those don’t come home to girls like her! She’d be much better off with Ron.”

“You were being a selfish, self-righteous--” she cut herself off, breathing through her nose in a deep attempt to calm while Harry did his best to cut through the noise and get them out while keeping Ginny from hexing Ron to hell.

Viktor came into the calamity seeing Hermione shake, tears streaming over hot red gashes that seemed to be shrinking in parts among the pandemonium, streams of bright tears down her face, glowing with magic. 

“Why did you have to bring your ruddy face here?” Molly hissed seeing Viktor in the doorway. “What is so very special about you? Better than my Ron? Hermione is meant to be a Weasley! Go back to wherever you came from!”

“Mum!” George, Bill, Charlie, and Ginny yelled.

Viktor took a look at her, narrowing her eyes and then looked over to Hermione, tears streaming down her face then to Harry who looked all kinds of distraught. Ron glared at him, per usual, and Ginny fought against Harry’s hold, reaching for the wand he’d confiscated. 

“Viktor,” Hermione said softly, weakly. He moved around Molly who was trying to impede him and went to the bed to scoop her out of it, carrying her out the door without another word. Molly yelled after them, but he walked on, holding her close and walking towards the garden. It was empty as he set them down on a bench and rocked her, murmuring soothing words to her as she cried. 

“I… I can’t believe she’d… Ron… I’m so sorry, Viktor. I--”

“Shh,” he said softly kissing her head, “You have done nothing wrong, mila. Let me hold you, yes?”

“Da,” she whispered, breathing him in, the scent that she’d very nearly forgot. He smelled like the fresh wind and sea salt, the Mediterranean and fresh cut grass. Beautifully masculine and wonderful.

Eventually, she quiets enough, eases enough to relax completely in his lap. 

“My parents were keeping them from me,” Viktor said. “But Dimi hid them for me, somewhere I would have found them if I’d been at the manor more often.”

“You’re moving out?”

His lips twitch, “Ot bog, woman, stay out of my mind.”

She laughed a bit at that, “You never referred to it as a manor before. How is your grandmother?”

“She passed away last year,” he said and her first tightened, her head tilted up but then back down realizing that she couldn’t see his expression and just settled for an “I’m sorry.”

“Was peaceful,” he said. “In her sleep.”

She nodded, “That’s… good.”

“Your parents, will you go find them?”

“They were killed,” she said. “I imagine it was quick but… they died not knowing me.”

Viktor squeezed her, “I… am sorry, mila.”

“I erased their memories and sent them away to protect them… and they were killed anyway.”

Viktor let out a breath, “Must not blame self for that. Can not shoulder everything, mila.”

She remained quiet, “Do you think… it unfair to be so angry with them?”

“Weasleys?”

“Da.”

“Ne,” he said. “Four years in coma, year of manipulation and no apology. Would be unfair not to be angry… make me wonder if letters are better off burned.”

She clenched his shirt and he winced, “Sorry, bad joke, yes?”

“Your humor can’t always be spot on,” she said, wryly. “I’ll give you some slack because it’s your fifth language.”

Viktor snorted, “I was hoping for because you love me.”

She pressed her face against his chest, listening to his heart beating, a smile on her lips. Viktor flinched seeming to catch what he’d done and mentally cursing himself. He was no better than the Weasleys taking advantage of the situation.

“I didn’t mean--”

“I know,” Hermione said. “We’re both a bit raw around the edges, aren’t we?”

He sighed, tucking her head beneath his chin, smelling the scent of her hair and feeling her in his arms. She was the perfect height to tuck her below his chin, rest his head on top of hers whether they were standing or sitting. He remembered that from slow dancing with her beneath the Yule lights.

“I do not wish to make burden for you, so much to deal with now…”

“Four years to catch up on,” she said ruefully. “So many books to read.”

He shook his head, cupping her jaw, “Is not funny, mila.”

“I’ll have to come up with some way to learn braille, I can’t not read, Viktor.”

“Perhaps you could rest instead, starts with _r_ and _e_  too.”

Hermione nudged him, “Funny…”

Viktor smiled looking down at her and looking up to see George coming to find them. 

“Hello Krum,” George greeted. “Harry’s all but kicked Mum and Ron out and the Healer wants to give us a rundown of how she’s doing. Care to bring the lady of the hour?”

“I can walk--Viktor!”

He stood up with her in his arms, “Hush, mila, you have done enough for now. Let me take care of you?”

George watched them, he’d always thought the two of them had a rather intense chemistry, but seeing them now after all these years, he was sure that his eyes hadn’t deceived him. After all, he was the only person George had ever seen look at Hermione that way. 

If Fred were still around, they’d have taken Ron aside to tell him so, as it stood he wasn’t sure what to say to his little brother. Either way, Hermione doesn’t protest, staying quiet in Viktor’s arms and letting him carry her back towards her room, thankfully devoid of rage as only Harry and the Healer remained in the room. George closed the door behind them and Harry watched from his seat as Viktor settled her back on the bed, careful to get her comfortable before sitting in the nearest chair and keeping their hands threaded together.

The Healer began to speak after Harry told him that Viktor needed to hear it too. In short, they hadn’t thought she would wake up and needed to ask her a string of questions to ascertain her mental state, whether she was fit to do magic and the like. She passed them all and her physical assessment. 

“You’ll be a bit weak and it will take some time to get your stomach accustomed to a heavier diet for a while, but other than that…”

“And her sight?” Harry asked.

“Ah… well, we haven’t really figured that out yet.”

Hermione’s hand tensed in Viktor’s and he squeezed back with a wry smile. 

“We’ve brought in hex breakers, but no one’s really had that much luck with it and… well… she was alive so they just figured that she would be alright. It isn’t as if she’ll need to work another day in her life.”

“What the--”

“Harry,” she said softly. “Can you tell me what it looks like?”

“Well… there were a bunch of… jagged tears on your face, your eyes were completely black and there’s a red light…”

“Red like scarlet? Red like blood?”

“Blood,” Harry said and she hummed and Viktor could only smile as Harry turned back to the Healer and opened his mouth to chew him out about clearly letting Hermione’s treatment go to the wayside because they  _ thought _ she would never wake up. 

“Harry,” she said again frustrating his plan to rip the Healer to shreds. “Where did all of my things go?”

“In your room,” he said. 

“My bag too?”

“Uh, yeah. Why?”

“Could you get it for me?” Hermione asked. “And perhaps something to eat?”

Harry squeezed her hand and left the room.

“You were saying?” Hermione asked the healer. “Anything else I should know about?”

“Erm… well no... That should be all. You should be okay to leave tomorrow barring any incidents.”

“Wonderful,” she said. “Viktor you wouldn’t happen to have my wand would you?”

“No, Potter took it,” Viktor said with a smile. “No blinded magic for you.”

She glowered at him, “Then...how am I supposed to do any magic?”

“You aren’t,” Viktor said. “Though you have a healer right here and me of course.”

She groaned and pouted a bit, “Do you know the Identifier spell?”

VIktor hummed, translating it, “Feel like fire yes?”

“Da,” she replied. 

“Yes.”

“Could you do it for me?”

Viktor sighed, “You will not just rest will you?”

“I may if I know if I can ever have my eyesight back.”

He shook his head and pulled his wand out, “Still.”

She nodded and remained still for him to cast the spell, she flinched, squeezing his hand at the pain but waited until Viktor hummed.

“No answer,” Viktor said. “No counter known.”

She huffed, or no counter was possible. The healer left soon after. Ginny returned with food. Harry returned with her bag sometime in between the first and second sip of soup which Viktor was refusing to let her do herself.

“I found it, lost little thing.”

She extended her hand and grabbed it before Viktor could protest.

“You are not helping,” Viktor said. “She will work herself too hard.”

Harry shrugged, “Hermione won’t rest until she’s at least explored this option.”

Viktor conceded him that as she opened it and stuck her arm in, rummaging around and he shook his head.

“Ot bog, what is this?”

“Undetectable Extension Charm,” she said offhandedly.

“Hermione had the essentials packed for days,” Harry said with wryly. “In that frilly little bag… Ron was right, we wouldn’t have lasted two days without her. Frozen in the bloody woods.”

Viktor nodded; Hermione and the boys, ladies and gentlemen.

“Ah!” She said pulling out a large book from the bag that Viktor could only groan at it.

Why… did he find it so sexy that she always had no less than three books on her person at all times? And they were always too large for her to be carrying around.

“Hermione… need I remind you that you can’t see?” Harry asked. 

She set the book on her lap and felt down the pages until she felt the fourth tab and turned the page to that. She flipped exactly ten pages before stopping.

“This one, what does it say?” Viktor leaned over with Harry, to see where she was pointing. 

“Oedipal Curse,” Harry read, reading the signs. “Nonverbal, causes blindness characterized by black eyes and veins with pulses of red light… ‘Mione, what don’t you know?”

“Tons of things,” she said simply, turning the page and pointing. 

“This curse has no counter hex, but may be remedied by washing the eyes with a tincture of the Furies, tears of remorse and drop of eternity for one of Diana’s passings.” Harry wrinkled his nose, “That sounds like a rather complicated potion.”

Hermione shook her head, “It isn’t just a potion, it’s a riddle.”

“How do you know that?”

“The Furies are the greek spirits of vengeance. A tincture of revenge that’s poison dissolved in alcohol. Tears of remorse, given that this is clearly a greek curse, is probably Dionysian wine the same wine that turned amethyst purple and a drop of eternity is…”

“Is.. what?”

Nothing was eternal, she thought thinking. There was love, but it was not eternal… but--

“Desire,” she said finally. “A drop of desire.”

“Is that… a thing?”

“In Greek,” Viktor said. “Desire is pothos or lachara. Pothos is plant called devil’s ivy.”

“Exactly,” she said. 

“How… do you make a drop of a plant?”

“Liquify it, mashed, ground whatever.”

Harry shook his head, “You are insane.”

“Wash my eyes for a month in this potion and it should go away… fascinating.”

Harry took the book and eyes the cover, “Where did you even get this book from?”

“Madame Pince gave it to me.”

How could Harry even be surprised?


	3. It's No Secret

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Truth comes to light...

He hated it. 

Hated how it turned his stomach, hated not being there with her, but Hermione was sneaky. She warded the door to her room every time it was time to wash her eyes out and it wouldn’t open until she was done. He and Viktor had all but given up trying to get her to let them in, but at least tonight was the last time. 

The door opened an hour after she’d warded it, it was getting to be a longer and longer wait over the month. Harry looked up, Viktor was already standing there and twisted the doorknob, not even bothering to knock to find her on the floor at the foot of her bed, unconscious, a puddle of black liquid beneath her head, still falling from eyes. Viktor lifted her up trying to coax her into consciousness, but she wasn’t moving, more and more black tears rolling down her cheeks, soaking the bandages over her eyes. Viktor spoke to her softly, trying to rouse her, but she didn’t stir at all. 

“‘Mione?” Harry tried. Viktor lifted her from the floor and carried her to the bed. He unwound the bandages from her hair and held her against him, drawing a blanket to wrap her in it as it continued to stream out of her eyes, whatever it was. 

It’s hours before it stops streaming down her face and she stirs. The black veins have disappeared, leaving her skin a smooth brown. She groaned, shifting and moving, her eyes fluttering opened. 

“‘Mione?”

She groaned, the world coming in shapes, shadows and then forms and colors until she could see the circles of his glasses. They looked broken again, Harry’s green eyes looking at her with worry. 

“Harry…?” She asked, snuggling into the warm thing she was leaning against. 

“Hey...are you… okay?”

She nodded, blinking and focusing on him as her vision continued to clear.  She smiled at him, “You look like you’ve seen a ghost...and you've broken your glasses again.”

He laughed, “You can see me?”

She nodded and reached her hand to cast a repairing charm on his glasses silently before she shifted, realizing that the warm thing she was leaning against, sitting on, was a person. If she had to guess, from the feel, it was Viktor. She looked up slowly to see his sleeping face, head tilted down, fast asleep, but holding her close.

He’s… beautiful, dark eyelashes fanning out over his cheekbones, he’d gotten darker from his time in Bulgaria and away from the frigid north. His hair had been cut, short and stylish. Ginny was right, he’d broadened, grown, his jaw growing more square with age. 

He was… definitely a Bulgarian Bon Bon now. 

She looked at Harry who seemed to have changed enough to be a bit of a shock as well, it was his eyes though that hadn’t changed at all. His hair was cropped short now, no longer over his scar and her lips twitched at the crack in his glasses.

“Four years… changes a lot doesn’t it?”

Harry snorted, “Not everything.”

She lifted her hand, "Occulus Reparo."

He startled the way he always did as the crack sealed itself closed and he laughed, warm and relieved. It seemed that maybe all was truly right with the world if she was still fixing his glasses every time they saw one another.

Viktor stirred, his eyes opened slowly as he raised his head and she looked at him, blinking slowly and looking at him, taking in his face as he came around and began to realize that she was looking at him, despite the strange color of her eyes. An eerie, milky blue that he would have associated with blindness, yet there was no mistaking that she was looking at him. 

“Hermione?”

“Hello, Viktor.” She said. “Long time no see.”

It’s slow, wry and happy, his smile before he cupped her face and kissed her, unable to stop himself even if he wanted to. Harry flushed at the sight, his eyes widening as Viktor completely ignored him and proceeded to all but devour Hermione. She didn’t seem to be fighting or unwilling so at some point he just excused himself, leaving as Ginny walked down the hall. 

“Well?”

“I think we should give them a moment.”

Ginny gave him a knowing smirk before taking his hand and tugging him along. 

“Well… we could have a moment of our own.”

“G-Ginny!”

She ignored him shoving him into his bedroom and throwing a silencing charm over the room before pouncing on him. 

Ginny and Harry don't come back when Viktor has had his fill of Hermione’s mouth. He groaned softly and pulled back to nudge her with the tip of his nose.

“Come to game, yes?”

She nodded and nudged his nose back, “Will your teammates hate me?”

“They will understand.”

Strangely enough, they do. Viktor went back to Bulgaria earlier than expected in a better mood than they'd seen him in a long time. He stepped onto his broom and took to the air, free and fast, cutting through the windstream without care. They laugh and tease him about the upturn in his performance and mood.

“With the way this is going, we're a shoe in. Is your lady coming?”

“Yes,” he said, with a grin.

While they change, Viktor explained what had happened over the last four years. They marveled at him but waved him off as he dressed and sped off to floo and apparate and meet her for their date. She stood exactly where she said she would, wearing her turquoise summer dress and heels, shy but so beautiful, he bows to her and offers his arm before they leave. It feels like they've just picked up where the left off, effortlessly. When he kisses her goodnight, he feels better than he had in a long time.

*

Between Hermione assuring everyone that she had her sight back, healing her own scars and getting used to the milky blue her eyes now were, she finds enough time to joke with her muggle friends that she could be Storm for Halloween. She wears Bulgarian red to the World Cup and sits with Harry, Ginny, and Ron in the Minister's box.

With her sight back, she's managed to tame her hair and properly manage it for the first time in four years so it's long, weighted curls were luscious and shiny. They're playing England, a team made up of a lot of Chudley Cannon members and a few others. Whatever it was about it Hermione’s return had invigorated the entire Vratsa team, leading them to pummel the English and take the World Cup home that year. 

At the Ministry function, she meets his team members officially. They all smile and kiss her hand before pulling her into their arms, calling her sister, and teasing Viktor. 

“They seem nice.”

Viktor shook his head, “Are also trouble.”

Hermione smiled, “They love you.”

“Da.”

“I love you.”

Viktor looked at her, that soft smile she’d only ever seen directed at her before he cupped her face and kissed her soundly. 

“Obicham te,” he said easily. “Have… wanted to say for long time.”

“I wasn’t ready to hear it,” she said. “I wasn’t ready to admit either.”

Viktor smiled, “Know I can not let you go now, yes?”

"Cute," she snorted. “I wasn't giving you a choice.”


End file.
